


The Stand-In

by pirl



Series: Stones Keep Rolling [3]
Category: As the World Turns
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-28 18:26:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/310817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pirl/pseuds/pirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Noah's lonely and finds a stand-in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stand-In

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the nuke_anon challenge #7 for which [I came in last place](http://nuke-anon.livejournal.com/26868.html). WOO! Apparently not everyone is into super dark angst around the holidays. Pity. Seriously tho, I don't mind. I just had a lot of fun writing this naughty little thing and kinda-sorta-but-not-really crossing that RPS line. It's there if you tilt your head and squint, that is.
> 
> The Noah in this story is definitely my version from the "Stones Keep Rolling" universe. I wasn't quite finished playing with him yet after the first story. This was written before "Gather No Moss" but chronologically fits in before "Stones." 
> 
> The prompts from the challenge I used were "guest star" and "squash."
> 
> Enjoy, or send raspberries!

Noah's lips are parched and papery from gasping, his thighs stretch long with knees bent into sharp angles, the small of his back twinges in an unfamiliar arch, and the deeply satisfying ache of having his ass stretched and completely filled brings a delirious smile to his face.

He reaches his hands out again, raking his fingers through a field of soft chest hair and scratching his dull nails over nipples. The body under him jerks, snapping hips up into Noah and taking his breath away. A wicked grin meets his own and soft brown eyes twinkle as strong hands grip his hipbones and guide his body up up up and ohgodyes down. Again and again in a languid, carnal carnival ride.

Noah's tongue sneaks out, licking salty, delicious sweat from his own upper lip. He closes his eyes as his head lolls forward, heavy with lust and alcohol. Lots of alcohol. He kisses the edge of vertigo in the darkness behind his lids, but he holds fast onto the body beneath him which keeps him from falling. The last thing Noah wants to do is fall. Falling is what brought him here, if he really thought about it. And Noah doesn’t want to think about it, about how he got here, but that's the wonder of alcohol--it sometimes likes to hold the remote.

Rewinding the evening back a few hours has Noah sitting in a dark corner of a bar pounding beer after beer and trying desperately to get shitfaced. To forget. Again. Forget about hopes and dreams and happy endings. Of crisp, cool air and golden leaves falling onto golden hair. Of nutmeg, crackling fires, warm woolen knits and pumpkin fucking pie. It was that last one, the pie, such an innocuous thing, which sent Noah spiraling into his latest bout of dissolution.

He had been picking up some groceries--something so typical and ordinary--when he almost literally ran into the Thanksgiving display. Cranberries, green beans, French onions and Libby's pumpkin filling nestled together in a canned cornucopia of Americana. That didn't bother him, he actually found it funny that it took a trip to the grocery store to remind him that the holiday was just around the corner. Southern California weather being what it was, the usual cues of colder days and changing leaves were not on the radar.

No, what set Noah off were the pre-baked pumpkin pies on the other side of the display. Disturbingly dewy-skinned pies wrapped in cellophaned boxes were the furthest from Emma's pies one could get, yet something about those sickly looking brown pies and their slit-marred surfaces grabbed him in the gut and wouldn't let go. For the rest of the day he was in the foulest mood and tip-toed the line between despair and utter rage. All he could focus on was the past and therefore decided to get so drunk that he couldn't focus on anything at all.

Fast-forward to the bar when the cock that was currently making his toes numb walked into his field of vision and smiled that smile. Noah had nearly fallen off his stool. It was uncanny, from the eyes to the hair to that goddamn smile. He tried his best to keep cool, to listen intently when whatever-his-name-was talked about his career, about how he was out celebrating with friends because he'd just landed a guest spot on some TV show or whatever. Apparently Noah nodded and smiled and said the right things at the right times to win the guy over. Soon enough those dimples were taking him in a cab to a hotel, which is exactly where they were now.

Noah flexes his thighs to rise up a little more, then slides back down with such force he hears as much as feels skin smacking against skin. He does it again and opens his eyes to the growl that comes from below him.

"Oh yeah, you want it rough?"

Noah does. He wants to feel this for days.

A second later he finds himself on his back, knees draped over shoulders, and that face just inches from his again.

"Oh fuck! You're so goddamn hot." The words breathe across his face, but all Noah feels and can focus on are the sensations from being so tremendously and thoroughly fucked. Noah can't help but grunt and gasp with every thrust, as if his breath were being forced out of him with every punishing slam of hips.

He wants this. He deserves this. As he reaches for his own cock to finish, Noah stares at the face above, those eyes mercifully closed in lustful concentration, and superimposes a thousand memories to carry him over the edge. It's so powerful Noah nearly throws the vision off, but with a growl and that haunting smile, coffee-colored eyes now open wide, Noah feels the faltering stammer of completion and holds on as tight as he can.

Words full of admiration and pleasure buzz in his ear but make no sense to his addled mind. What Noah does distinguish is the loss his body feels when his legs are gently lowered and the presence in his ass withdraws.

Noah floats around in the ether feeling languid and sore and wholly exhausted. Moments later he feels a damp washcloth being handed to him and takes it. He makes a couple clumsy swipes across his body and drops it on the floor right before he drops out of consciousness.

\-----

Hours later Noah stirs, emerging bleary-eyed from a less than restful slumber. Confusion overwhelms him for a moment as he tries to piece together the night in his head. The soft, even breathing next to him and the lights of early morning LA coming through the sheer window coverings shake the cobwebs from his mind. He takes a slow, deep breath and winces at the painful throb in his head. As he shifts to get up, he winces also at the not-as-painful throb in his ass. He sits up, holding his head in his hands and bracing his elbows on his knees as his body slowly finds magnetic north. The bar, the smile, the fucking… He's never gone this far before. It's been just hand- and blow-jobs, nothing that needed a hotel room. But his face…

Noah stands and peels a condom wrapper off his hip that has somehow stuck itself in the middle of the night. Quietly as possible he finds and puts on his clothes, checking his wallet to make sure nothing was taken, and makes for the door. He stops and takes one last look at the bed. His heart clenches at the sight that is so familiar and yet so completely fucking lost to him. In his head he says yet another good-bye and walks out the door.


End file.
